It is doubtful if in all Millsburgh there was a soul who felt a
personal loss in the passing of their "esteemed citizen" Adam Ward.
During the years that followed his betrayal of Peter Martin's
friendship the man had never made a friend who loved him for
himself--who believed in him or trusted him. In business circles his
reputation for deals that were always carefully legal but often
obviously dishonest had caused the men he met to accept him only so far
as their affairs made the contact necessary. Because of the power he
had through his possession of the patented process he was known. His
place in the community had been fixed by what he took from the
community. His habit of boasting of his possessions, of his power, and
of his business triumphs, and his way of considering the people as his
personal debtors had been a never-failing subject of laughing comment.
Men spoke of his death in a jocular vein--made jests about
it--wondering what he was really worth. But one and all invariably
concluded their comments with some word of sincere sympathy for his
family.

Because of the people's estimation of the Mill owner's character, the
publication of his will created a sensation the like of which was never
before known in the community.

One half of his estate, including the Mill, Adam Ward gave to his
family. The other half he gave to his old workman friend, Peter Martin.

Millsburgh was stunned, stupefied with amazement and wonder. But no one
outside the two families, save the Interpreter, ever knew the real
reason for the bequest. The old basket maker alone understood that this
was Adam Ward's deal with God--it was the contract by which he was to
escape the hell of his religious fears--the horrors of which he had so
often suffered in his dreams and the dread of which had so preyed upon
his diseased mind.

When the necessary time for the legal processes in the settlement of
Adam Ward's estate had passed, John called the Mill workers together.
In his notice of the meeting, the manager stated simply that it was to
consider the mutual interests of the employers and employees by
safeguarding the future of the industry. When the workmen had
assembled, they wondered to see on the platform with their general
manager, Helen and her mother, Mary and Peter Martin, the city mayor,
with representative men from the labor unions and from the business
circles of the community, and, sitting in his wheel chair, the
Interpreter.

To the employees in the Mill and to the representatives of the people
the announcement of the final disposition of Adam Ward's estate was
made.

The house on the hill with the beautiful grounds surrounding it became
in effect the property of the people--with an endowment fixed for its
maintenance. It was to be converted into a center of community
interest, one feature of which was to be an institute for the study of
patriotism.

"We have foundations for the promotion of the sciences, of art and of
business," said the legal gentleman who made the announcements. "Why
not an institution for the study and promotion of patriotism--research
in the fields of social and industrial life that are peculiarly
American--lectures, classes, and literature on the true Americanization
of those who come to us from foreign countries--the promotion of true
American principles and standards of citizenship in our public schools
and educational institutions and among our people--the collection and
study of authentic data from the many industrial and social experiments
that are being carried on--these are some of the proposed activities."

This Institute of American Patriotism would be under the leadership of
the Interpreter and would stand as a memorial to the memory of Captain
Charlie Martin.

When the mayor, in behalf of the people, had made a fitting response to
this presentation, John told the Mill men that their employer, Pete
Martin, would make an announcement.

The old workman was greeted with cheers. Some one in the crowd called,
good-naturedly, "How does it feel to be an owner, Uncle Pete?"
Everybody laughed and the veteran himself grinned.

"I guess I'm too old to change my feelings much, Bill Sewold," he
answered. "And that's about what I was going to tell you. The lawyers
say that I own half of our Mill here and that I can do what I please
with it. But I can't some way make it seem any more mine than it always
was. Mary and I are agreed that we'd like to do what we know Charlie
would be in for if he was here, and we've talked it over with John and
his folks and they feel just like we do about it.

"The lawyers can explain the workin's of the plan to you better than I
can; but this is the main idea: The whole thing has been made over into
a company with John and his mother and sister owning one half and me
the other. What John wants me to tell you is that he and his folks are
turning one half of their interest and Mary and me are turning one half
of our interest back to you workmen. So that from now on all the
employees of the Mill will be employers--and all the employers will be
employees. With John and me and our folks owning one half, you can see
that we're figuring on keeping the management in the proper hands, John
will be in the office where he belongs and the rest of us will be where
we belong. Considering our recent demonstration, I guess you'll all
agree that a lot of us need to be protected by the rest of us from all
of us. And now all we have to do is to work. And I'd like to see Jake
Vodell or any other foreign agitator try to start another industrial
war in Millsburgh."

It was the Interpreter who asked the assembled workmen to endorse a
petition to the governor asking clemency for Sam Whaley. The ground
upon which the petition was based was that the guilty principal in the
crime was still at liberty--that others, still unknown, were involved
with him--that Sam Whaley by his confession had saved the Mill and the
community from the full horrors planned by the agitator, and that under
the new standard of industrial citizenship the former follower of the
anarchist might in time become a useful member of society.

A solemn hush fell over the company when Peter Martin, Mary, John and
Helen were the first to sign the petition.

The old house is no longer empty, deserted and forlorn. Repaired and
repainted from the front gate to the back-yard fence--with well-kept
lawn, flowers and garden--it impresses the passer-by with its air of
modest home happiness. To Helen and her mother who live there, to John
and his wife, Mary, and to the old workman who live in the cottage next
door, the spirit of the old days has returned.

The neighbors in passing always stop for a word with the gray-haired
woman who works among her flowers just as she used to do before the
discovery of the new process, or with her sweet-faced daughter. The
workmen going to or from the Mill always have a smile or a word of
greeting for the mother and the sister of their comrade manager.

Nor is there a man or woman in all the city or in the country round
about who does not know and love this Helen of the old house, who is
giving herself so without reserve to the people's need, who has, as the
Interpreter says, "found herself in service."

But when the deep tones of the Mill whistle sound over the city, the
valley and the hillsides, there is a look in Helen's eyes that only
those who know her best understand.

And often in these days the neighborhood of the old house rings with
the merry voices of Bobby and Maggie and their playmates. From the
Flats--from the tenement houses--from the homes of the laborers, they
come, these children, to this beautiful woman who loves them all and
who calls them, somewhat fancifully, her "jewels of happiness."

"Yer see," explained little Maggie, "the princess lady, she jest couldn't
help findin' them there happiness jewels--'cause her heart was so
kind--jest like the Interpreter said."